


For The Love of A Prince

by QueenOfRohirrim



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, First Meetings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Getting Together, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Grief/Mourning, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Noble Jaskier, Second Chances, Wolf Pack of Kaer Morhen, prince geralt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfRohirrim/pseuds/QueenOfRohirrim
Summary: Geralt had been lucky enough to be wed to a woman that he loved. For a prince, such a luxury was almost unheard of.The White Wolf of Kaer Morhen certainly never expected lightning to strike twice, but when a smiley young lord asks him for a dance at his brother’s betrothal feast, the Northern Prince suddenly finds himself falling once more.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Triss Merigold, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Renfri | Shrike
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	For The Love of A Prince

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how many chapters this will be just yet! I’m waiting to see how everyone likes this first part. Share your thoughts with me in the comments!

Geralt, The White Wolf of Kaer Morhen, First Born to King Vesemir, Crowned Prince of Kaedwen and the Mountains of The North.

They were pretty titles to be sure, but Geralt felt himself being slowly drained by every gilded name that hung itself from his shoulders. A prince’s life was coddled and comfortable, sure. He never wanted for anything. Food and drink were plentiful and he always had a warm bed to sleep in. Still, he found himself often wishing for a different life. Sometimes he wondered what else he could have been, had he not be born to wear a crown atop his head.

“You look even more sour than Lambert.” Eskel smiled softly, looking at his brother with gentle sympathy. Geralt was glad that he’d been sat next to Eskel for this damned betrothal feast. He could hear Lambert throwing a fit at their father from the center of the table and that was not something that he wanted to break apart. 

“This is a bad idea.” The white haired prince sighed at his brother, watching with a close eye as his daughter danced amongst the guests with a group of children her age. 

Eskel hummed his agreement while taking a long drink from his goblet. A dribble of ale ran down his chin and he wiped it away on the shoulder of his fine scarlet tunic. “Duty’s never satisfied. Not by a prince.” He sighed, lounging back in his chair. “Remember your own betrothal feast, Geralt? We were nearly here until dawn, waiting for someone suitable to show up.”

Geralt smiled slightly. Renfri had been a suitable match indeed, arriving to the affair and marching up to the king’s throne with her head held high. She’d all but demanded a dance with the silver prince, and Vesemir had been impressed straight away, nodding his approval for Geralt to take her hand.

That had been it for him. Renfri had claimed his heart, and she was equally smitten. It was a shame that their time together as man and wife had been cut so short. At least Geralt had Cirilla still. With an heir at his side, he would never be expected to marry again.

“I don’t expect Lambert to be pleased by anyone here tonight.” Geralt muttered at Eskel. “I was oddly fortunate to find Renfri.”

“You were.” His brother agreed. “And I was fortunate enough to be allowed a place in the future king’s royal guard. No betrothals for this second son.” He smiled with pride, thankful to have escaped the fate of an arranged union.

Geralt couldn’t blame him. Finding a partner that one could actually love was a rarity at these blasted betrothals. He felt for his youngest brother, but part of him knew that Lambert would more than likely find someway to slip free from whatever marriage he found himself tied into, and he’d do so with a good sharp blade.

“Don’t weep for Lambert.” Eskel chuckled, as if he could read his brother’s thoughts. “Weep for whatever poor bastard manages to slither his way into Lambert’s bed. They won’t be keeping their balls for long. Or their throats.”

“Hmm.” Geralt hummed, turning to look at the King and the youngest prince, who were still arguing over the last three lords and two ladies that Lambert had turned away.

“The night is still young.” He intruded on the tense conversation, hoping to ease his brother’s temper before it reached the point of rage. “Let him alone, father. These things take time.”

Lambert was giving Vesemir the most poisoned look he could conjure. “You hear Geralt? There’s no reason I have to entertain these idiots all night if I don’t like them.” He growled.

Vesemir grunted and sat back against his throne. “You could at least be polite.” He muttered. “That’s all I ask.”

“Fuck that.” Lambert hissed, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl plastered over his face when another young nobleman approached the King, greeting him and the royal family with a bow.

“Your Majesty.” He smiled brightly up at Vesemir. He had a lovely smile, all glittering white teeth and dimples in the pink of his young cheeks.

Geralt allowed himself a second glance. This man was quite handsome. Dressed like a bloody prick, maybe, but handsome none the less.

“Lambert’s about to wipe that smile right off his face.” Eskel chuckled into his ale.

“Hmm.” Geralt smirked softly, suddenly quite interested in the latest of his brother’s suitors. The young lord wore a fine golden doublet, embroidered with topaz stones that reminded the prince of the golden eyes for which his kin were known.

“Lord Julian of Lettenhove, your grace.” The knight who had escorted the youthful noble introduced his liege. 

The King grunted, looking the boy up and down with a careful eye. “Speak then, lad.” He commanded Lord Julian. “You desire a dance with my son?”

Lambert was ready to spit in the man’s face already and Eskel giggled into his cup at the expression his little brother was making. 

“A dance I do desire, Your Majesty.” Julian confirmed. “But it is your eldest son who I would very much wish to join me.”

Eskel nearly choked on his drink and Geralt’s eyes went wide as they met those of the bold nobleman. His were a lovely sky blue, the prince noticed. Not that it mattered to him, because it certainly did not.

“Geralt?” Vesemir asked, his voice gentle and fatherly, asking for permission as always before he promised his son’s company to anyone. 

Lord Julian turned that lovely, hopeful smile onto the prince, and Geralt found himself agreeing without even knowing he’d nodded his head.

“Very well then.” The King consented. “You may have your dance, Lord Julian.”

The Lord of Lettenhove smiled even brighter and offered his hand to the prince. Geralt took it once he’d climbed down from his seat at the high table, and soon he found himself in the middle of the throne room, being led into a slow waltz by the young blue eyed noble.

“Forgive me for interrupting your peaceful evening, Your Highness.” Julian apologized, that impossible smile never moving from his lips. “I simply could not leave here without a chance to speak with you.”

Geralt grunted, his body stiffening when an arm wound it’s way around his waist.

“This is my brother’s betrothal feast.” He muttered. 

“Yes, yes, I’m aware.” Lord Julian assured him, leading him about the floor in time with the other dancing pairs. “I do apologize if I have offended his majesty, but your beauty stole my attentions away.”

Geralt was blushing. He knew he was. He could feel the heat rising over his cheeks. Fuck.

“I’ve had my marriage.” He informed the hasty noble, who nodded and offered a look of honest sympathy. 

“Yes, I did hear.” He assured the prince as they moved together over the floor. “Your wife was a great beauty I hear, and an even greater warrior. I was sorry to hear of her passing...Rest assured, your grace, I do not wish to claim your hand tonight.”

Geralt frowned, suddenly feeling quite prickly at the mention of Renfri, yet still intrigued by the joyful young man that held him.

“What do you want?” He growled out at Julian. “What do you want from me?”

The ridiculously bright smile returned to the young noble’s face. “A dance will do.” He promised. “If that is all his majesty wishes to give me, I will ask naught else of you.”

“Hmm.” Geralt grunted, coming to a halt when the music stopped and most others who had filled the King’s court began to applaud the musicians. 

“I do thank you for your company, my dear prince.” Lord Julian bowed, taking his hand to kiss the knuckles softly. “Shall I escort you back to your seat?”

Geralt gave a nod, and he was taken back to the high table. True to his word, Julian asked nothing more of him.

“I do hope to speak with you again.” He told the prince politely, bowing once more to him and then to the King before he made his way back to his own table.

Eskel waggled his eyebrows at his brother and Geralt realized that he was still blushing rather fiercely. Fuck.

“And who are you?” His father’s voice growled, drawing his attention before Eskel would say a word.

Another young lord, this one dark of complexion and even darker of hair and eye, had approached the king’s throne. A wild smirk graced his lips and he wore a familiar sigil upon the breast of his green tunic. A wild cat baring it’s fangs. 

“If my memory serves me correctly, this is the hooligan that scaled the walls of my keep under the noses of my foolish guards.”

“Father...” Lambert growled at Vesemir.

The young lord was undeterred. “I am a man of passion, your majesty.” He explained to the king with a mischievous grin. 

Geralt grunted and looked back at Eskel. For now, at least, they could both focus on their little brother’s questionable choice in suitors, and Geralt’s fascination with the young Lord of Lettenhove could be momentarily forgotten.


End file.
